The Compliment Game
by DorthyAnnDrarry
Summary: Drarry \\ One-shot \\ Hogwarts Eighth Year \\ Harry and Draco end up in detentions together with their new and decidedly odd Potions Professor who decides to inflict the most awful of punishments on them, a compliment game.


"Welcome to detention, lads," Ruz Yarrow, their new Potions professor, said with a pleasant smile and a lovely Scottish lilt.

Draco kept his gaze locked on his hands in his lap. Harry bit his lip nervously. Professor Yarrow didn't give detentions out often and they were rumoured to the worst. Only no one would say what happened in them, and a bunch of teenagers with active imaginations tended to conjure the worst sort of scenarios. It was all a little unsettling.

Professor Yarrow had that way about her. She was only five foot five and slight as a wisp, with curly brown hair that was almost always tied back, brown skin and eyes; and yet she was always a bit unnerving. It might have had something to do with the way she always seemed to be smiling like something delightfully awful was just about to happen. She was a very good teacher but took an inordinate amount of glee out of cauldron explosions. Sometimes she even caused them herself, as _teaching examples_. It was most of the student body's opinion that the new Potions Professor had a very strange personality indeed.

Professor Yarrow circled around behind them, "See those cauldrons?" she stopped between their shoulders and pointed to the stack of cauldrons reaching the ceiling, stinking of sulfur and dragon liver.

They both nodded and relaxed just a touch, scrubbing cauldrons wasn't that bad, it was sort of what was expected in detention.

"Good," Yarrow went on, "Keep them in mind now, y'hear? During this detention the two of y'are gonna play-" she paused, apparently for effect, "-a compliment game."

"A what?!" they both blurted, turning around to stare up at her.

Professor Yarrow smiled that gentle unnerving smile of hers, as she walked around back in front of them, "Y'heard me. It's simple, y'ken. Just take turns give'n each other compliments. If'n y'can't, or y'say somethin' a bit rude or cruel, y'll washes a cauldron wit a dollop of elbow grease, while the rest of us watches you wit scorn and maybe mockery for bein' a right silly bugger."

Harry and Draco looked at each other with apprehension.

"I'll be casting a wee secret keeping charm. So no worries 'bout me gabbin all of your kind words." She leaned back against her desk so she was out of the way and both boys could see the sink full of cauldrons right in front of them, "Now shall we get on wit it?" With a perfunctory nod she cast a secret keeping charm and, having got a feel for the two unruly young men in the few months of teaching them, flipped a coin to see who would start, "Off you go, Mr Malfoy," she prompted once the coin was flipped.

Draco stared at Harry then clenched his jaw and lifted his nose with a sniff.

"Ah, that won't do t'all," Professor Yarrow tsked and used her wand to lift the top cauldron from the stack and dropped it into the sink with a clatter, "There y'go, get 'er nice and clean."

Draco stood and stomped over to the sink, pushing his sleeves back and grabbing the stiff-bristled scrub brush and scouring soap.

Yarrow pursed her lips and looked at Harry with a gleam in her eyes, "Shame that, can't even manage one nice word. A real embarrassment that is."

Harry hesitated, darting looks at Draco's back.

Yarrow gave him a meaningful nod.

"Err, I guess," Harry said hesitantly.

"I'm sure y'won't do us the same, will you, Mr Potter?" Yarrow said pointedly.

Harry shook his head dutifully, "No, Professor."

Draco dropped his head with a faint snarl and scrubbed harder. They waited in silence through the next five minutes it took him to finish cleaning the cauldron. He flicked the water off his hands as he pulled his sleeves down and dropped heavily into his seat, instantly slouching into a glower.

"Mr Potter," Yarrow nodded at Harry.

Harry swallowed hard and leaned forward in his chair nervously. He considered refusing like Draco had but decided it couldn't hurt to say a few nice things, especially since no one would ever know or even believe he had said them, "…I like the colour of your hair; it looks almost white in the sun."

Professor Yarrow smiled triumphantly, "Tis nice. Good work, lad. Come on then, Mr Malfoy, give it a go."

Draco narrowed his eyes, stood up and went back to the sink. Yarrow sighed loudly and lowered another cauldron. She shook her head faintly, "Pointless pride tis a foul useless thing."

Once he finished and came back, looking stubbornly pleased with himself, it was Harry's turn again.

"You're really smart, right?" Harry said after a moment's thought, "Always right after Hermione in class standings."

"Nice compliment," Draco said acidly, "Pointing out I'm not as good as a bloody muggle-born."

Yarrow said, "Miss Granger is a hard worker. Tis no need to compare since y'are both clever. Seemed a very decent compliment to me."

Harry glanced at Draco, then Professor Yarrow and followed his gut, "No, I'll clean a cauldron if he doesn't like it."

Yarrow raised her eyebrows, "Are y'sure?" she asked.

Harry looked over at Draco who seemed torn between confusion and rage. He smiled smugly, feeling quite pleased with himself. "Yeah, I'm sure."

Harry went over to the sink and scrubbed out the cauldron Professor Yarrow dropped down into the sink. The Professor didn't say anything to Draco, simply crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him meaningfully until Harry sat back down.

"Well, Mr Malfoy?" Yarrow said quietly.

Draco glared at each of them in turn, "Fine," he said shortly, refusing to look at Harry as he said, "Your eyes are a good colour, a good Slytherin colour."

Harry pressed his mouth together to tamp down on a smile.

"That was a bit of a shite compliment," Professor Yarrow snorted.

"It's fine," Harry said quickly, "I like your eyes as well, the grey colour's very nice," he hesitated then remembered the secrets charm added, "They go almost quicksilver when you're mad. Is that a wizard thing?"

"It's a Malfoy _thing_ ," Draco said mockingly.

Yarrow raised an eyebrow, "Twas a lovely compliment and I can see what Mr Potter means, quicksilver indeed. Do y'have another compliment in you, Mr Malfoy, or just more fuss?"

Draco's brow furrowed, and he crossed his arms over his chest.

Professor Yarrow said, "Well-?"

"I'm thinking!" Draco growled and said abruptly, "You're good at Defense."

"You're bloody brilliant at Potions," Harry said.

"Stop stealing my compliments!" Draco snapped, "Think of something on your own, you stupid pillock!"

"I'm afraid that earns you another cauldron, lad," Yarrow said with a flick of her wand, the heavy cast iron cauldron clanging into the large stone sink. "Such a bundle of trouble," she muttered under her breath as Draco scrubbed furiously.

Harry nodded silently in agreement. Draco had started being nicer and more careful around everyone after the war, everyone but Harry it seemed. No matter what Harry did Draco was still prickly and spoiling for a fight at every turn. It was almost a relief with everyone else in the school treating him like he was like a fragile glass monument. Except that Draco never let up, and it got old fast, which was how they ended up trying to hex one another in the middle of Potions a few days ago.

He was such an annoying proud arsehole.

"You're gonna to lose at this rate," Harry said, his voice filling the quiet room.

Draco stiffened.

Harry smirked, "You've done three cauldrons, and I've only had to wash one. You're two behind. Being a twat is really working out for you."

Professor Yarrow gave him a calculated look that turned into a sly grin, "Insults get you a cauldron, Mr Potter."

Harry tamped down on his immediate impulse to whine about the unfairness and gave a muttered, "Fine."

Draco dumped his clean cauldron to the side with a triumphant smirk as Harry took his place and scrubbed out another one.

"Three to two now," Draco said as Harry sat back down.

Harry huffed, "You're an amazing seeker."

"Not as good as you," Draco said.

"But you're the only one that can give me a challenge, everyone else in the school is rubbish," Harry said.

"You can't use the same compliment twice. He can't can he?" Draco said and looked to Professor Yarrow.

"I was just explaining!" Harry said and quickly added, "Here- You're very funny when you don't insult people."

Draco flushed faintly at this praise but quickly smothered it under a glower that Harry wasn't washing up a cauldron. He opened his mouth, then hesitated and closed it again.

"Have y'got one?" Yarrow asked.

Harry pressed, "You're never going to catch up if you lose another point now."

"I've always liked your hair," Draco blurted and immediately slapped his hand over his mouth, his whole face flushing pink.

Harry's eyebrows shot up, "Really? But you've always said-!"

"Your turn!" Draco snapped, "Say something Potter!"

Harry blinked, "I think you're handwriting, um, like your penmanship is really elegant. I'm lucky if I can even read my notes after I take them."

"That's putting it lightly." Draco glanced at Yarrow, "He said it, not me."

She smiled enigmatically, "So he did. Still your turn though."

Draco pushed a hand through his hair in frustration, "This isn't fair, Potter is utterly boll-" he broke off and said carefully, "Potter is so ordinary, whereas I have many extraordinary points."

"And yet," She paused for effect, "still your turn, Mr Malfoy."

"Fine!" Draco threw up his hands, "You're brilliant at killing dark lords. Happy?"

Harry laughed then answered back, "That transfiguration you did in class yesterday, turning that block of wood into a duck, that was fantastic."

"Your Protego is the best I've ever seen," Draco said.

They settled into a quickfire back and forth of complimenting each other's spell and potions work until Harry drew a blank and sat there blinking, his brow furrowing in a growing silence, "I- I don't know…"

Draco grinned triumphantly.

Harry went to the sink and pushed his sleeves up. He washed the cauldron slowly, glancing over his shoulder more times than he would ever admit having done.

"It's tied now," Draco said smugly.

"Only if you can keep it that way," Harry shot back.

Draco opened his mouth to shoot back a biting retort and then closed it with a snap. His brow furrowed in thought.

Professor Yarrow's patience waiting only lasted half a minute at most before she pulled out an obnoxiously large silver pocket watch and opened it with a click, the ticking of it filling the empty room, "Time's a wastin, lad," she hummed.

"You-" Malfoy started, paused, his face screwing up in frustration, "You're very-"he finally settled on, "very, Gryffindor."

Yarrow raised an eyebrow, "Was that, supposed ta be a compliment?"

Draco flushed, his mouth pursing, "Gryffindors! Daring, nerve, and chivalry! Nothing wrong with that, as far as compliments go, right?"

"No nothing wrong with that," Harry agreed quietly, and they were both looking at him, and it was his turn. All he had left were the things he only thought of when he was alone, usually late at night; the echoes of embarrassing, confusing dreams and stray thoughts that worried him more often than not.

Harry looked down at his hands, twisting them together in his lap. When he glanced over at Draco, he was glowing with triumph at Harry's silence.

"We've only a quarter hour left of this lovely eve," Professor Yarrow said, "So you'd best be on with it."

"Might as well concede defeat now," Draco smirked.

Harry looked away from that arrogant smirk and wondered why his traitorous mind was so obsessed with someone like Draco Malfoy. When it came down to it, he knew precisely why.

Yarrow opened her watch again, and it ticked loudly. "Last chance, Mr Potter."

Harry ducked his head, pushing his glasses up on top of his head, only intending to rub his eyes but he left them there, the heels of his palms pressing tightly into the sockets. His face went hot as he choked out, "You're bloody gorgeous."

Someone sucked in a shocked breath. Harry couldn't bear to raise his head to see; the only other noise was the ticking of the damn pocket watch.

"I think you meant handsome," Draco said.

And when Harry looked up, pulling his glasses back on, the blond's expression was petulant and flushed and Harry laughed because he didn't know what else to do.

Draco wouldn't look at him, " _I_ get to decide if it's a good compliment. That's what _we_ agreed on."

"That's right petty of you, Mr Malfoy," Professor Yarrow said disapprovingly.

Harry stared at him. He felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. Harry couldn't even look at him anymore, he looked back down at his hands, curling them into loose fists and squeezing until his fingernails dug into his palms. "You're smart, witty and beautiful and I bloody well _hate_ you."

He felt tired and frustrated all at once, as he stood and went over to the sink without looking at either of them, "Just- I'll wash them, all of them, I don't care," he shook his head roughly, "You win, Malfoy."

He shoved his sleeves up, and when the Professor didn't lower a cauldron for him, Harry pulled out his wand and did it himself. He washed messily, splashing water and soap onto himself, scrubbing like he could make the heaviness in his gut disappear with the blackened residue burned to the bottom of the heavy cast iron.

Someone stepped up beside Harry. He ignored them.

"Budge over, Potter," Draco said, pushing Harry over to the side of the sink and levitating a dirty cauldron next to Harry's. He grabbed the other brush and dumped in some scouring powder.

Harry tried to keep ignoring Draco, but all his frustration and anger was draining too quickly for him to hold onto. "I said, you won," Harry said furiously with what he had left.

There was a long pause. It felt like Draco wanted to say something, but he never filled the silence. Harry finished cleaning his cauldron and got another one, redoubling his angry scrubbing, scraping his knuckles across the metal. He focused on the sting; it made it easier to stay mad.

"I didn't say that I _didn't_ accept the compliment." Draco said slowly like he had to force out every word, "I just said that I _could_."

Harry said nothing.

"I do accept it," Draco said, just slightly louder than their scrubbing. He levitated his clean cauldron to the sideboard and Harry saw his hand reach out like it was going to grab Harry's wrist and stop his scrubbing, but then he pulled back and pulled another dirty cauldron into the sink instead. "So we're still tied." Draco tipped the box of scouring powder, misjudged and dumped far too much in, "Bollocks," he muttered.

Harry grabbed the last dirty cauldron and reached into Draco's, scooping out a handful of scouring powder to clean his own. "That means it's your turn," Harry finally said.

"Not much of a point when we've already cleaned all the sodding cauldrons, Potty," Draco said sharply.

Harry shrugged, "Insults lose you a point."

"It's not an insult," Draco said quickly, "It's… a term of endearment."

Harry froze and looked over at Draco who seemed to be struck by the horror of his own statement.

"So is Ferret then!" Harry sniggered.

The tops of Draco's cheeks were beet red, "How is that a term of endearment?!"

"How is Potty?" Harry said back with a cheeky grin.

Draco pursed his lips into a thin line. "As you like," he muttered.

Harry focused on his last cauldron, his scrubbing slowing down, hoping to draw the moment out.

"You're too nice," Draco grumbled, not even scrubbing just staring down at his half cleaned cauldron with a pinch between his eyes, "All the time! You forgive people and give second chances that most people wouldn't, I wouldn't." The furrow deepened, and he frowned, " _I_ wouldn't have given me a second chance."

Harry stopped cleaning as well, dropping the brush and rubbing his knuckles absently, "Why not? No one's perfect."

"Says the golden boy," Draco muttered bitterly.

Harry leaned forward against the sink, "I crucioed Carrow," He squeezed his hands together, "I nearly killed you."

Draco stared at him.

"I sometimes wonder about sixth year, if I had gone about it better, maybe it wouldn't have turned out the way it did," Harry said quietly.

"I doubt it," Draco scoffed, "We were both prats."

"It was a shit year." Harry picked up his brush and finished cleaning the cauldron, rinsing it with an aguamenti spell.

Draco followed his lead, scrubbing out the last blackened bits on the bottom, "Your turn."

Harry moved the cauldron over to dry and hit the whole stack with a drying spell, "You've been trying really hard this year. I've heard you apologised to a lot of people. You don't use slurs anymore." He leaned on the sink again and as Draco finished scrubbing he rinsed the cauldron and held his wand still so Draco could rinse his hands under the stream of water, "You've been nicer to everyone, 'cept me."

Draco gave him a studied look. He said to Professor Yarrow, "Is time up? What should we-?" He looked over his shoulder, his words dying with his gaze.

Harry turned. The classroom was empty. Harry jumped as Draco slammed his brush into the sink. He just caught sight of Draco's expression, flushed with embarrassment as he stormed past Harry towards the door.

"Who wins then?" Harry called after.

Draco yanked open the door. He paused to throw over his shoulder, "You're not bad looking yourself, Potter," before jerking the door shut behind him so fast it bounced out of the jamb.

Harry ran to the door, pulling it open and stepping out into the hall, but Draco was already gone. Harry grinned and ran after him.

It was his turn.


End file.
